A pleasant 86°F

Since Wednesday, which was so hot that even Thiaba complaned and it felt as though my brain was melting, the weather here has been downright pleasant. I even put my pilfered airplane blanket on my bed last night. Of course, this means that it's a little harder to convince myself that I'm enjoying taking a cold shower, but somehow I can manage. Anyway...

This time I'm not going to try to upload the pictures here. It"s too annoying. Instead I'm uploading them directly to picasa. I also think this might be my last post with direct day to day narrative. I think I might start doing random vignettes and/or talk about general cultural things.

Hopefully this will work as a link for my pictures:

http://picasaweb.google.fr/julia.condon/SenegalPartOne#

Thursday, 20 January

We took the taxi downtown on Thursday morning, instead of the bus like the day before. Again I was glad that Thiaba and Adama were there to negotiate prices and destinations for us.

Downtown we started out at the national cathedral. It was quite beautiful, made out of white stone. Next we walked past various governmental buildings, including the presidential palace. A group of elderly French tourists emptied out of a bus in front of us as we approached. The palace was quite opulent, with white walls, green lawns, and a view facing the ocean. It is also on the relatively sheltered side of the presqu'ile. As we passed a side gate a motorcade came out, complete with police escort and sirens.

Next we stopped at the bank so people like me could get money. While we were there we were approached by a couple of vendeurs ambulants. Any toubab is likely to attract vendeurs ambulants; a large group of them standing still is like a honey trap. For once we didn't immediately try to shake them off. A couple of people bought cheap necklaces and I was pleased with myself when I successfully bartered down the price of a cheap diary to replace the one that I have when I run out of paper.

Bartering by myself would not have been advisable when we got to the place where I got my bag. Katie and I both wanted bags, so we all went to a place where they made and sold clothing and bags. It was pretty amazing. It was a fairly large building on the edge of one of the markets, and every inch of the entire bottom floor was packed with clothing and bags hanging from the walls and ceilings and on tables on the floor. Wedged between the tables were a couple dozen almost antique sewing machines, each with a young man hard at work stitching fabric together or sewing on designs in thread. They all stared at us as we passed, and we were swarmed by several people who pointed out various products to us.

Katie and I made our selections, then we all went up a staircase at the back of the room to an upper level. The hallway was lined with small rooms, each with another man hard at work on a sewing machine, surrounded by cloth and products in various states of completeness. In another room full of completed products we waited around while Adama ruthlessly bartered down the price to a third of the original asking price.

When we were finally done there we went across the street and other people bought stuff from other vendors. Katherine bought a pare of leather flip-flops and Jessl got a bin-bin, which is a chain of beads worn under the clothing around the waist, and is treated in a way similar to lingerie. Usually it is something that is given to a woman as a present from her boyfriend or husband, but Jess wanted some anyway.

When we got back to ACI we had several hours to kill before the response meeting, so I went with a few others to the restaurant/bar known to ACI people as "Baobab VI" (there used to be three official Baobab buildings, with the bar as the fourth one). I have seldom had such slow service, but it was rather pleasant to hang out under the outdoor awning and people watch.

After the response meeting I decided to check out the Casino, a supermarché several "blocks" away. As I passed Ramadan's tent and exchanged greetings I was spotted by "Boxy James." Boxy James is a frequently encountered denizen of the neighborhood, perhaps in his mid thirties, whom previous LC students warned us is "harmless but annoying." I can safely confirm this analysis. He started chatting to me, and I said I was going to the Casino. He insisted on escorting me there. As men are want to do here, he asked me for my phone number and I gave the standard response that I didn't have one yet. He insisted on giving me his number, which is also standard. When we got to the Casino he said he would wait outside. I lingered in there, half hoping that he would give up and leave, but as I was checking out at the register I saw that he was still there.

Despite my protestations that I had tons of homework to do and needed to get back to ACI (not that that was true. Have I talked about the acceptability of white lies here?), he again insisted on taking me to his neighborhood, which was on a nearby street; and introducing me to his grandmother, who sleepily responded to my awkward greeting. He then paraded me past various other friends on the street, and introduced me to his father, who owned a nearby tailor shop. He noted my ring, and I told the people in the shop that I had a fiancée and could therefore not marry anyone in the shop (I brought the ring, also upon the recommendation of previous students, for just such a purpose). The farce continued as we finally mossied back to ACI, while he greeted several dozen other people. During the walk Boxy James noted several times that I walk quickly, and I tried to explain that everyone in my family has long legs and therefore walks at a fast pace, and tried to balance my impatience with the slow pace that most people use here.

Only when I was back home and sunset was fast approaching did I realize that in my annoyance in seeing Boxy James waiting for me outside of the Casino I had forgotten my purchases at the register. I was irritated for most of the rest of the evening.

Friday, 21 January

On Friday morning I started off the day with the usual section of baguette and instant coffee, and as usual was reminded of Professor Yana saying "Here's to it: Utopia ...where it is to be hoped the coffee is a little less sour." The bottom inch or so of the cup is always oddly sour. For a change I also had a grapefruit, which also was a little sour, but still was good. I ate it like an American while Sanda watched curiously.

At ACI we had a lecture on the history and current state of the education system, including the long tradition of strikes. Then we all piled into a big van. The Penn State students came with us as well, so the van we took was more like a bus than a van, and quite luxurious at that. It had gushy seats and air conditioning, even.

Our destination was "l'école de la rue," or school of the street, which was in a slum. In fact, the whole quartier was mainly slums, and the section we visited was packed with shacks made out of plywood and corrugated metal. Some of the paths between walls were too narrow for two people to walk abreast. We passed women doing the wash in font of their homes, babies strapped to their backs. One or two had tables where they sold fruits and vegetables that were swarming with files. Amazingly, we passed a few dwellings where TVs were playing from the darkness.

The school was in a sort of clearing, and was made up of several large shacks, including one made out of an old train car. The students were mostly small street children, but there were also a few teenagers. The class was being taught by a man in his late fifties or sixties, helped by a volunteer from Belgium. The teacher gave us a tour of the campus, such as it was, and talked to us about the school and his students, and frequently encouraged us to ask questions and take pictures. One of the Penn students and I were the only ones who had brought cameras, and I felt tacky taking pictures, so I tried to do it when no one was looking.

I have never seen such abject poverty. It is one thing to know that such things exist and quite another to see it in person. In comparison our neighborhoods are decidedly middle-class, and my house is upper middle-class. It was a relief to again inhale exhaust when we stepped out of the collection of shacks and into an area with regular traffic. To put things into perspective, most people cannot afford the 3000cfa per month charge to send their children to private school. That's just over $6 per month.

In the bus on the way there we all chattered freely, but on the way back the only person who spoke was Samba. I wasn't really listening, so I don't know what he was talking about, and I don't know that anyone else was either.

In the afternoon we came back to ACI for our first Wolof lesson. Of course everyone else in the group has been paying more attention than me, and so did better, but oh well. We went over basic greeting exchanges and the like. Sanda and Siham both want to learn Wolof too, so we went over the cahier (workbook) with Gnagna after dinner. After that our conversation ranged from family name origins to the redwoods in Humboldt County. It was fun.